


Foxes, and forging, and food, Oh My!

by RussianSunflower3



Series: Seijou 4 Week; Sunflower style [13]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Recipes to follow, Seijou 4 Week, Youtuber AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianSunflower3/pseuds/RussianSunflower3
Summary: The once-third years now have their own youtube channels.BambooFox, Hanamaki's baking channel.InkyDragon, Matsukawa's calligraphy channel.Oi-Kirin Tori, Oikawa's playthrough channel.And Blades-Of-Fire, Iwaizumi's forging channel.Despite the differences in tastes and interests, they still love each other very much.





	1. BambooFox and InkyDragon.

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend playing Scott Joplin's "The Entertainer" for the first half of this chapter.

Hanamaki stands in his kitchen, fiddling with a recording camera to make sure his entire work space is in the shot. After taking a deep breath, he sets it to start recording in 30 seconds and moves to stand behind the counter. He sends a thumbs up to Matsukawa, standing off to the side, and counts to 10 before he grins bright and cheerful, ready to get started! The light on the camera turns green.

“Helloooo, and welcome to my channel! I’m BambooFox and this is… Intoxi-bake-ed! The show where I, and a friend, put our livers and lives in danger by drinking whilst baking! Today, we’ll be making Raspberry Buns. And who might my guest be, you ask?” He holds his hands out dramatically as Matsukawa jumps into the shot with a _‘hup!’_ and holds a hand up casually in greeting.

“Yo.”

“That’s right, it’s my best friend, one of my boyfriends, and next door neighbour, InkyDragon! Remember to check out his calligraphy channel as soon as we’ve finished here, the link is in the description below!”

“So, Fox, what are these ludicrous Raspberry buns and how do we make them?”

“Well, Inky, they’re a traditional British sweet bun that coincidentally, has raspberry in them.” Matsukawa gasps in fake shock, leaning away from Hanamaki like he’s said something deeply offensive. The huge smile on his face gives away his excitement at their target baking product though.

“Well I never! What do we do first, my fair foxy friend?” 

“First…” There’s a dramatic pause as Hanamaki reaches under the counter, grabbing the bottlenecks of what he placed there early and putting them on the countertop firmly with a deadpan gaze into the blinking recording light on the camera.

“We get slaughtered.”

Two bottles of wine and half a bottle of vodka each later, both of them are undeniably wobbly on their feet but still sober enough to keep their thoughts straight. Hanamaki picks up a printed piece of paper, his words slightly slurring as he reads through it. 

“So we need… We need… Are you ready Inky?”

“M’ready as the day I was birthed… Born. Day I was born.” Hanamaki pauses, narrowing his eyes at his thick browed friend.

“Wait, does that mean you’re ready, or you’re not?”

“M’READY.” Okay, maybe Matsukawa is a little more sensitive to vodka than Hanamaki is, so Hanamaki slides him a glass of water to drink between cut-scenes. He’ll sober up as they go along anyways, always the quicker one to recover from their drinking escapades. Luckily, Hanamaki has already measured out everything they need between cut-scenes of the chugging the alcohol and cheering each other on.

“We need our 200g of flour and a pinch of salt mixed in the bowl. Actually, I’m going to add cinnamon instead, because cinnamon is better.” He chucks the salt over his shoulder, not knowing he’ll regret it in the morning when it’s clean up time. Instead, he rummages in the cupboards until he finds the cinnamon shaker. 

“Inky! Release the flour!” Matsukawa turns the small bowl containing the flour upside down into their mixing bowl with a cloud of white.

“Done! Where’s the Cinnannamonomon?” Hamaki flips the lid open and shakes twice. Not enough. He shakes again. Hmm… Could still use more… He shakes a third time.

The entire lid falls off and all the cinnamon left in the shaker falls into the flour.

“NooooOOOO _OOOOOO_!!!!!” Matsukawa blinks as Hanamaki drops his head onto the counter with a fake sob.

“We-... Fox, I gotta say, this is the earliest we’ve fucked up yet.”

“I know.”

“We weren’t even _mixing_ yet.”

“I know!”

“... Are we still gonna carry on with this?” Hanamaki straightens up, wiping away his tears of mourning for the lost cinnamon. Technically, it’s not lost… It’s just… Going to taste really strong...

“Yes, yes we are. Next! We need to get _**messy**_.” In a sarcastic tone, Matsukawa shrugs to the camera.

“Oh boy, what could go wrong here?”

“Oh shh, it’ll be fine. This is 100g of butter, and we’re gonna rub it in with our fingertips.” Matsukawa brightens up with glee, and there’s a cut-scene to where they’re washing their hands, blowing bubbles at each other like it’s _war_. Another cut-scene takes them to having both hands in the bowl, leaning away from the bowl because it feels gross!

“Ew ew ew ew…”

“Yuuuuuuuck.” They pull their hands out with the mix sticking to their fingers and basically not in the bowl anymore. 

“It’s stickier than… Than sticks.”

“Inky, sticks aren’t actually sticky.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Hanamaki stares at Matsukawa as if expecting him to take it back, but he simply shrugs and gestures for them to carry on as they use a spoon to scrape the mix from their hands back into the bowl.

“We’d better wash our hands again.”

“I second that.” They scrub off, a cut-scene between drying off their hands and downing more drinks, since they’ve stepped backwards from drunk to tipsy. Hanamaki knows he’ll be stammering and sputtering more often now, but at least he won’t be falling asleep on the countertop like Matsukawa.

“Okay! Wakey, wakey, let’s get bakey!”

“Are we puttin’ them in th’ oven yet?”

“Not yet, just a little more to-... Oh Heck.”

“What?”

“The oven. I forgot to preheat the oven.” Matsukawa snickers and just waves his friend towards the posh-looking oven.

“Do it now. Won’t make much difference, since you already fucked it up.”

“Uh, excuse you, cinnamon is a blessing and these raspberry buns will be the best buns ever.” As Hanamaki cranks up the oven to gas mark 7, he doesn’t notice Matsukawa deadpan shaking his head at the camera. He’ll find it when editing later.

“Can you stir in the 100g of caster sugar?” 

“Sure thing.” Matsukawa ‘carefully’ pours in the sugar from its measured out plastic bowl, but… It doesn’t really look enough, amongst the crumbly red mixture full of cinnamon. 

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Hanamaki isn’t paying attention - he’s gone from turning on the oven to looking for the eggs in the fridge - he picks up the nearby bag of sugar and dumps almost a quarter of the package in the bowl. Surely Hanamaki won’t notice that…

He stirs it in with a wooden spoon, whistling innocently. Hanamaki side-eyes him suspiciously, then returns to hunting in the fridge for the egg box. His eyes light up when he spots it behind the slab of cheddar cheese, for some reason out of its packet. Oh well. It’s still in the fridge. He picks out the egg box, and as he glances at Matsukawa, his drunken mind comes to a hilarious conclusion.

“... Inky, catch!” He throws the smallest egg with a strong flick of the wrist, knowing full well what’s about to happen and-

_SPLAT_.

Spotting the egg coming towards him at about waist height, Matsukawa automatically sank into a receiving position and went to bounce it off his forearms like a volleyball. Eggs, however, do not quite bounce like volleyballs. At the velocity Hanamaki launched it, eggs tend to break instead of bounce.

Matsukawa stares blankly at his egg-covered arms, the shell dripping to the floor with most of the egg white. When it finally registers through his inebriated mind, he glances up at Hanamaki in mock anger and betrayal.

“FOX!”

“Yes, my sweet InkyDragon~?” Hanamaki flutters his eyelashes teasingly, but the arrow striking through Matsukawa’s heart is definitely not fake. He can’t stay mad with Hanamaki like this, not even drunk or pretend-furious. 

“...Nothing. Just put the damn egg in the batter.” Hanamaki grins and takes out the biggest egg, placing the others safely away in the fridge. He cracks it on the edge of the bowl and the egg plops into the centre of the mix, where Matsukawa has shaped a little nest for it to sit in.

“Really, I should have whisked it first, but I’ll take the whisk and- Wait, no! Not take the whisk! Take the _risk_!” Matsukawa is doubled over laughing, and as Hanamaki steps forwards to stop him laughing, his prank from earlier backfires on him.

The egg on the floor means his foot slides on the tiled surface and he does the splits, disappearing behind the counter from the point of view of the recording camera. 

“I _hate_ eggs!” When Hanamaki edits it, he’ll add a timestamp and speed up the video to show the good ten minutes passing before Matsukawa finally stops wheezing and weeping and howling with laughter as Hanamaki sits in a chair off to the side, only just in the frame of the camera.

“Glad that’s over. Now, one tablespoon of milk makes sure our mixture binds and once it’s a nice little clump-” The video skips to a point where Hanamaki is holding the bowl right up to camera to show the viewers the almost perfectly round ball of red-tinted dough. He skips back to Matsukawa and turns the bowl upside down, letting the dough _thwump_ onto a floured board. 

“- We need to knead it!” They start to knead the dough, heel of the hands working into the mixture with ease. They’re strong, young boys used to baking. The same muscles they use for volleyball are incredibly suitable in this situation. Hanamaki pauses to take a shot of tequila, offering Matsukawa a sip of vodka. 

“Time to separate it! This particular recipe makes 12 buns, so you can always double it for twenty four, or _mega quadruple_ it for a **billion**.” Matsukawa chuckles warmly at his enthusiastic friend.

“I’m not sure that’s how maths works, Fox.”

“Fuck your maths, I’m using common sense.” Hanamaki tears his share of the dough into six parts, not at all equal because his vision is blurring just a little. Of the two of them, Matsukawa is now the more sober one, and he waits until Hanamaki turns away to check the oven temperature to quickly re-size Hanamaki’s portions so they look slightly more equal, and rounded. He then does his own.

“What do we do now?” He picks up the printed pages, eyes scanning the words and finding their current step. Hanamaki obviously took the opportunity to add a few written comments on the side and Matsukawa snorts.

“Finger your buns? Wow, Fox, not sure if that’s safe to do in the kitchen.” Hanamaki swats at his cheeky smirk through laughter as Matsukawa wriggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Not like that, you pervert! You have to- You have to make a hollow in the centre of each bun! So it looks like a tiny little nest!” 

“Ohhh, I see~...” They set to work, Hanamaki slurring the words to Anaconda as he sways side to side whilst shaping the buns, making sure to nudge Matsukawa off to the side each time. It’s very distracting and Matsukawa knows his buns won’t be perfect shape.

“Let me see the instruction sheet… Okay, so, this is where the printed instructions are too faded to read, and you’ve just written _’jam it’_ in huge, bubbly text.” Hanamaki snickers.

“Cus you gotta jam it.”

“... Jam _what_? How? As far as I know, that’s slang for dancing to music.”

“You gotta jam it!” He proudly holds up a jar of raspberry jam, pointing to the buns. Matsukawa clocks on almost immediately.

“Oh. Put the jam in the holes, I gotcha now.” Matsukawa fetches a spoon and starts to scoop out the jam and stuff the bun holes full, almost overspilling.

“Time to bake!” The buns are slid into the oven, and Matsukawa moves round to turn the recording off. For the ten minutes whilst the buns are rising and cooking, he and Hanamaki will sit down, drink water, and sober up for taste testing. 

“Takahiro, come and sit down.” Tipsy as he is, Hanamaki is a well-behaved drunk and only whines as he comes over to the sofa, flopping over the arm and landing face down in the cushions. Matsukawa eases him up and sits down, letting Hanamaki’s head fall back into his lap.

“Did’ya set the timer?”

“Yup. Got you some water too.” He holds up a glass of water and Hanamaki wriggles upwards to take it into his hands and sip at it. He pulls his laptop out from a special drawer in the cupboard just within arms-reach.

“Shall we go through the comments on Friday’s video?”

“Last week? Oh yeah, you did that one alone. What’d you make?”

“A neopolitan birthday cake. Since you guys were decorating the party venue, I thought I’d make the cake to bring… Then realised it was update day and ta-da, my own intoxi-bake-ed birthday cake.” Matsukawa pets his hair softly, knowing that Hanamaki tends to get emotional whilst he’s sobering up, and will probably end up crying over the “wonderful, amazing birthday party” they surprised him with on Friday past.

“22 years old and you drunk-baked your own birthday cake… What a life we lead.”

“Technically I was still 21 then. I turned 22 at a couple minutes to midnight.”

“That makes all the difference.” Hanamaki wriggles in closer to rest his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder, huffing in amusement as he scrolls through the received comments on his last video. With over 10,000 views and 4,000 comments, it’s hard to look at them all, so he just glances through for the names of loyal watchers and people he knows.

“Oh look, there’s Yahaba… Ah, Watari commented just a few seconds later.”

“They must have watched it together. Anything from Kyoutani?”

“Nah, you know he only comments on Yahaba and Watari’s channels.”

“Good point. What about the kids?” Hanamaki laughs again, his warm breath ghosting over Matsukawa’s collarbone.

“We really shouldn’t call them kids anymore. They’re _twenty_. They have _**jobs**_ , Issei.” Matsukawa humms into Hanamaki’s hair, remembering the day they went to the monthly ex-team meet up and Kindaichi and Kunimi both revealed they had jobs. Kindaichi works as a guide dog trainer, and Kunimi found his place in the graphic design industry.

“They’ll always be kids to us.” 

“True, true. Oh look, there’s their comment.” Kindaichi and Kunimi shared an account, but it easy from reading the comments to tell who had written it. Lots of exclamation marks, no capitalization, and a lengthy paragraph. Matsukawa and Hanamaki merely looked at each other with grins before speaking in unison.

“Kindaichi wrote that.” Hanamaki finishes off the glass of water and scrolls all the way through to the first few comments. Of course, there’s the annoying ‘first’ comments as always, about 26 of them, but he ignores them in favour of finding the comments from Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Aha! Oi-Kirin Tori!”

“... I still can’t believe he called himself Oi- _Giraffe Bird_.”

“What did you expect, all his videos are animal based.” Matsukawa shrugs and hums. Oikawa runs a game play channel, and every single game he plays is based on animals or non-human entities. His currently on-going games are Niche, Spore, and Warriors: Untold Tales. With his charisma, humour, and surprising innocence, Oikawa makes for a really popular channel. Unfortunately he does get more hate along with that, a lot of people commenting on his gameplay and his personality. 

“He said the Neapolitan was a good idea but it probably didn’t bake right because I poured a whole bottle of rum and and a touch of gin in it. And I quote; it should be a soggy bottom, not a drippy bottom; end quote.”

“He complains an awful lot for someone who tried to cook rice without water.” At Matsukawa’s deadpan interjection, Hanamaki can’t hold back his laughter any longer. The laptop almost drops to the floor as he slaps a hand across his stomach and guffaws until it hurts. Matsukawa has salvaged the laptop, reading through the rest of the comments on the page and waiting until Hanamaki calms down.

“He’d like to be a guest again, since you haven’t collabed with him recently.”

“Urgh, fine. If anything, the viewers liked watching him ruin everything and fail. He confused flour for washing powder! _Washing powder!_ Why do you think I measure everything out beforehand now?!” Matsukawa snorts as he chokes on a laugh, passing the laptop back over.

“Still, maybe you should? It does make for an interesting video. I can always help you clean up in the morning.”

“... Alright, I can agree to it on those terms, but I’m putting the fire station on speed dial.” He replies to Oikawa’s comment with such, and is pleasantly surprised when there’s an instant response.

“.. Tooru sent me that emoji that means trouble. Should I lock the doors and windows?” 

“Nah, but you should add the ambulance service to speed dial too. And maybe cook something simple. Nothing he can kill you with.”

“Issei, he almost killed me with _bagels_. And I only let him put the filling in!” Before Matsukawa can come up with a response, Hanamaki’s phone dings.

“That’s the two minutes warning! Let’s get the camera back on and oven gloves ready.” They hurry back into position, turning the camera on so Hanamaki won’t miss the oven pinging. He can edit out the unnecessary wait beforehand. After lingering for a while, and passing time by flicking little bits of kitchen roll at each other, the oven finally dings and Hanamaki straightens up with a little bounce, pep in his step and grin in place.

“They’re done!”

“Let’s hope they’re edible.”

“Excuse _you_ , Inky! They look great!” He holds the tray out to proudly display the raspberry buns to the camera, and whilst they look a little flat, with jam spilling out of it’s usual nest, they’re baked all the way through. Hanamaki’s not so sure they should be pink-ish though.

“Give me a bite then.” Putting the tray down on a cooling rack, Hanamaki picks out one of buns and holds it out for Matsukawa to take a bite. He blows it to cool it down, then takes a bite big enough to cover the bun and the jam in the centre. 

“... Ohmygod, feed me more, Fox, feed me.” Hanamaki cackled in victory as he shoved the raspberry bun into Matsukawa’s face, and flashed a peace sign to the camera. He takes a bite of his own and moans at the _heavenly_ light and fluffy, sweet and cinnamon-y taste.

“And that just goes to show that even fuck ups are good inside! That’s all for today, and remember to check out InkyDragon, and subscribe to this channel to get notifications for every BambooFox video! The next episode of Intoxi-Bake-ed will be out this Friday, so keep an eye out because I’ll have a special guest returning. Until next time!” He and Matsukawa wave at the camera, although Matsukawa seems more interested in scoffing down the raspberry buns, to which Hanamaki snatches one he’s about to grab and biting into it.

As if life hates him, when he turns on his heel to go and turn the camera off, he slips _again_ on that patch of egg. His hand hits the cooling rack as he goes down and raspberry buns can suddenly fly. Matsukawa bursts into warm, bright laughter.

“I fucking _hate_ eggs!”


	2. Blade and Giraffe-Bird.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noodle

It might be the middle of winter, with snow falling outside, but Iwaizumi is still standing in his garden with three cameras around. One pointing at an anvil, one at a furnace, and the other turned off at a filing station. He’ll turn that camera on when it’s needed. He doesn’t need to speak for his videos, so any noise on camera doesn’t matter since he’ll mute it and replace it with music. 

He heats up a thick slat of metal in the furnace until it glows such a bright, vivid orange that Anish Kapoor would be banned from owning it. When he takes it out, it’s pliable and soft enough to mould it. But in this weather, it cools very quickly.

He moves between the anvil and furnace multiple times, hammering the metal into a shape that vaguely resembles a knife. Of course, it’s nowhere near done. For almost an entire hour, he walks the same track in the snow over and over again, his shoulder starting to feel the ache from doing this much activity in cold weather. 

Iwaizumi, though, is very warm. He takes off his outer jacket, revealing a sleeveless top underneath. Really, it’s a bit unsafe. But he’s been doing this enough years to deal with minor burns and scaldings.

The metal has taken shape, so Iwaizumi takes it over to the filing station. He turns the camera on just before he fits the metal into heavy duty vice. He files it down, painstakingly checking millimeter after millimeter and scrutinising his work. 

The blade needs to be as thin as possible. Once he’s filed down the flats of the blade, he uses two blocks of wood to cushion it from the sides of the vice, and starts filing the top. 

Once that’s perfectly straight, he moves the camera along the outside desk to a sanding station, a thick sheet of sandpaper, really high quality, laying out flat. He sits on a stool and presses the heel of his hand against the top of the knife he’s shaped, sanding it back and forth until the metal shines and reflects in the snow-reflected sun.

It’s quite clear that this is going to be a Tanto knife. Just as Iwaizumi is covering it in a clay, sand and charcoal powder mixed paste, he hears the garden gate rattling as Oikawa obviously decides to pop round unannounced.

“Come in carefully, I’m filming.”

“I know, I’ve been hearing everything you’re doing!”

“Creepykawa.”

“Geh… I mean, the whole neighbourhood can hear. I’m just the only one who knows you’re crazy enough to be forging in _snow_.” Iwaizumi laughs softly, putting the Yaki-ire covered knife into the charcoal fire below the furnace. He keeps hold of it with a long clamp, until it rests perfectly in the middle. He leaves it alone as he moves the camera pointed at the sandpaper over to the small water barrel. 

“So what brings you over here?”

“Oh! Takahiro agreed to let me do another episode of Intoxi-Bake-ed with him!”

“That’s brave of him.”

“Rude.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why come over here when you hate the cold so much?” Iwaizumi pulls on a thick glove that covers up to his biceps, picking up his clamp again. He retrieves the knife, and takes it to the water barrel he’s fixed the camera up to. Oikawa watches with wide eyes as the metal vanishes beneath the surface, and then… 

Swirls and clouds of smoke rise up in the cold air, appearing to glow red from the knife in the water. 

“I came over because I wanted to spend time with you, Hajime!” With a gentle laugh, Iwaizumi sets the knife inside some soft cloth to dry, switching off the cameras for now. He’ll let the knife properly cool down first, so steps over to Oikawa in the meantime. Softly, he presses a kiss to Oikawa’s cheek.

“Alright, I’ll believe that for now, but you _always_ have an ulterior motive~.” Oikawa’s cheeks flush red and Iwaizumi grins, knowing there’s something Oikawa is hiding.

“Okay, so maybe there _is_ something I want.” His fingertips brush against Iwaizumi’s hip in silent suggestion and Iwaizumi nuzzles into his collarbone apologetically, a rejection of that proposition. 

“I’m sure ‘Hiro and Issei have finished today’s filming. Why don’t you go and see them?”

“I will, but not until I’m warm. It’s _freezing_ today, how are you only wearing a shirt?!” Iwaizumi laughs once more, pushing the glove from his arm and setting it on the outside desk. 

“I work with a furnace _and_ a charcoal fire, Tooru, of course I’m warm whilst it’s burning.”

“Are you done out here now?”

“Mhm, for the time being. Help me move the cameras into the workshop?” Oikawa nods and picks up one camera as Iwaizumi picks up the other, moving into the converted garage. It’s now Iwaizumi’s main working space for the hilts of his creations. 

He returns back outside to fetch the blade, making sure it’s wrapped tightly in cloth and then bound in rubber straps. Bringing it into the workshop, he sighs and places it in a safe, which he locks after.

“Hajime? Aren’t you going to finish it?”

“Not right now. The hilt and sheath are separate, so I can do them at any point. But it’s a lot of work that I have to be in the mood for.” Oikawa leans against his back, arms looping around Iwaizumi from behind and pressing a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“... Noodles, mainly.” Oikawa huffs a laugh, breath dusting like a cloud over Iwaizumi’s jawline, moving down to nuzzle against his neck and nip, leaving a tiny pinkish mark. Iwaizumi bats him away lightly.

“Oi. Don’t go eating me, I’ll make enough for both of us.”

“Yaaay, Hajimeeee~.”

“Sometimes I think I’m spoiling you.” Oikawa steps back with a soft smile, eye crinkled at the edges from pure happiness. Iwaizumi’s own lips quirk into a smile when he sees Oikawa so genuinely content like this.

“Why don’t you invite ‘Hiro and Issei over? We can have movie night with noodles.” 

“That sounds amazing! I’ll tell them to stop at the library and rent something out!” Oikawa skips away into the living room, probably setting the Kotatsu up whilst Iwaizumi goes into the kitchen and starts looking through the cupboards for what he needs. It’ll take Matsukawa and Hanamaki about 2 hours to get here, so he can safely make fresh udon noodles.

Typically, he’d usually get Hanamaki to help him when he gets here, but he’s sure Hanamaki has had enough of cooking for today. He measures out 500g of udon flour, 15 grams of coarse salt, and 240 milliliters of water, which he leaves to get to room temperature whilst he measures out ingredients for the dashi soup base.

He leaves the mirin and soy sauce bottles on the side, knowing he’ll have to adjust the measurements according to taste. 2 pieces of dried konbu kelp, 20g of dried bonito fish flakes, and a jug of 800 milliliters of water sit on the side out of the way for now. Washing his hands, he checks the temperature of the water for the noodles and nods in satisfaction. Time to get started.

He mixes the salt and water, letting it dissolve whilst he shifts the flour into a bowl. Once the salt granules are all completely dissolved, he adds it bit by bit into the flour, mixing with his hands to make sure it’s distributed evenly. By the time it’s done, the dough holds together whilst he kneads it even if it feels a tiny bit dry. He puts it into a large plastic bag and grins.

Here comes the really fun part. He drops it onto the ground and starts to gently stomp on it, spreading and thinning the dough out as he waddles over it and dances over it to imagined music. He picks the dough up, takes it out the bag, rolls it up, and puts it back in the bag.

Again, he stomps all over it. He keeps doing this until the dough is smooth and rubbery. It has to rest for ten minutes, so he starts on cleaning up dishes from this morning. Might as well. 

He also opens a special compartment he has in his kitchen, flicking on a switch that’ll make it a comfortable warm but not toasty temperature in the compartment. After all, in the cold winter months, Iwaizumi would usually have to let the dough rest for 2 to 3 hours when it needs it, but he can have this compartment warmed up to speed the time to a single hour.

Speaking of sitting dough… He checks his watch. All the dishes are done, but he still has two minutes. Quickly, he ducks into the living room. The suspiciously empty living room.

“Tooru?”

“Mhm?” The responding sound startles him because it’s coming from somewhere in the room. Of course, Iwaizumi instantly zeros in on the Kotatsu. His eyes narrow, folding his arms.

“Get out from under there, you’ll get burned.” The thick blankets shuffle and Oikawa’s head pops out from underneath, already looking a little red, as if he has a fever. Iwaizumi knows better.

“You’ve put your face _much_ too close to the heater.”

“But it feels so good!”

“Uhuh, but it can feel good without suffocating or getting burnt.” Oikawa’s eyes peel open slowly and he pouts, but seeing as he wriggles to sit up properly on the pillows around the outside of the Kotatsu, he’s listening to Iwaizumi. With a soft smile, Iwaizumi unfolds his arms and ruffles Oikawa’s hair before returning to the kitchen. 

He folds, pinches, and rolls the dough into a ball shape before sealing it tightly back in the plastic bag. Placing it into the compartment, he sets a timer for an hour. Whilst it’s resting, he can make the dashi soup stock. He pulls out two pots onto the stove, filling the larger one with the 800ml of water. 

He uses a paper towel to wipe the two pieces konbu kelp down before putting it in, not wanting the excess residue to ruin the whole thing. Turning the flame to a very low heat, he’s done for another 15 minutes. 

“Hajime!” There’s no urgency in Oikawa’s voice when he calls, so Iwaizumi calmly walks into the living room. Oikawa is kneeling in front of the TV, DVD’s at his knees. They’re all the recorded matches they’ve had in their lifetime, including when the Kouhai from their years were third years, but Oikawa looks like he’s frantically searching for just one.

“What’s missing?”

“The one where we beat Karasuno! When we were third years!” 

“Ah. I don’t have that one.” Oikawa’s head whips round to him, eyes wide.

“What?”

“I don’t have that one.”

“But- But that’s the _best_ one! We all got a copy, where did yours go?” Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“I broke it. On purpose”

“You- You broke it.”

“Yup.”

“On _purpose_?”

“Yup. After we lost the next time round. Ah, I broke that one too.” Oikawa blinks at him, a mixture of shocked, confused, and concerned. His perceptiveness proves to be Iwaizumi’s downfall when his face drops into a frown and there’s empathy in his gaze.

“Oh, Hajime... “ Iwaizumi scowls.

“Don’t pity me, alright.”

“I‘m not! I just-... I’m sorry I didn’t realise back then how badly it affected you…” With a shrug, Iwaizumi walks over and joins him on the floor, browsing through the selection. 

“It could have been worse. I thought about hurting myself, once. The same night. But then you, ‘Hiro and Issei rang me via skype as if you had a weird additional sense. It- It helped. Every time you three dragged me back to practice, or reassured me when I had bad days, and told me how much of a formidable college rival I would be… It helped.”

“H-Hajime…” He doesn’t dare look up and meet Oikawa’s gaze, knowing it’ll be a wet and emotional look, maybe to the point where a couple of tears spill over. He’s never - although he should have - he’s never told them just how bad it was before. 

All the guilt, the self-doubt, the crushing pressure of the 4 on his back or the word ‘ace’ on his shoulders or the vice-captain title on his head… 

The failure from their last match had torn him apart, shredded him from the inside out, and he would have completely fallen apart if it hadn’t been for the people around him. 

Mainly Oikawa, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and his mother, but others too.

“Let’s watch this one.” He picks up the match from when Kunimi was Captain, against the Shiratorizawa team led by Captain Goshiki. It had been a close, intense match. All four sets went into the 30’s, but because Kunimi kept his tactic of storing energy up to the end, the last set had been an Aobajousai victory at 15-12. 

It was the first time Seijou had defeated Shiratorizawa to reach nationals, and even then they’d reached the quarterfinals.

“O-Okay.” Oikawa’s voice trembles, understanding the weight of what Iwaizumi’s told him, but choosing not to push it. If it’s taken 4 years for him to divulge this much, he’s not likely to say any more on the matter unless it’s voluntary. 

Putting the DVD in, Oikawa moves to sit back under the Kotatsu, lying on his belly with his chin in hands. Iwaizumi sits casually, leaning back against the Kotatsu with a hand resting on Oikawa’s back. It’s not wanting or needy, nothing revealing or sexual, but it’s affectionate. 

It’s soft and loving and _intimate_. Oikawa can feel his cheeks heat up, but they also stretch into a smile. Iwaizumi’s touch relaxes and rejuvenates him at the same time. They’re about ten total points into the game when Iwaizumi’s hand draws away.

“Hm?”

“Stock. I’ll be back.” Iwaizumi’s brief explanation is enough to sate Oikawa, who turns his eyes back to the screen. Iwaizumi can’t stop his gaze lingering a few seconds longer, his chest bursting with warmth and love. As if he hadn’t just fallen in love all over again, he goes into the kitchen and uses wooden chopsticks to quickly remove the konbu kelp from the water. He adds the bonito flakes and turns the heat up to a roaring flame, watching as the water is brought to boil.

“Should’ve made takoyaki… Would’ve been quicker…” He watches over his mixture for another 5 minutes, the familiar sounds of volleyball in the background as Oikawa watches the tape. Straining the bonito flakes out, he separates the mixture equally into the two pans. 

To one, he adds a dash of mirin and a steady trickle of soy sauce. That’ll be for him and Matsukawa, preferring a salty taste. To the other, he adds a drop of soy sauce and a hefty amount of mirin. It’ll be sweet as sugar, and exactly to Oikawa and Hanamaki’s tastes.

“Hajimeeee. Issei and Taka say they’ll be here super soon. They got a lift from Hanamaki-Kaa-san.” 

“Okay, can you tell them to stall another… 25 minutes? The noodle dough is still resting.” He hears Oikawa snicker and pokes his head in to see him texting away, the DVD paused. Iwaizumi checks that the pans aren’t close to falling off and places lids on them to keep them fresh as they wait at the side. 

He joins Oikawa again, this time a little closer and also on his belly, legs under the Kotatsu. His arms are crossed, and he rests his cheek on them, eyes fluttering shut. He’s still awake, but resting like this does wonders for any stress in his life - most of it from his job. 

Oikawa looks down at him with a fond smile, admiring everything from Iwaizumi’s slightly crooked nose to his long eyelashes and the faint splatter of freckles isolated on his cheekbones. 

He’s beautiful, and Oikawa presses a butterfly of a kiss to his forehead, watching Iwaizumi relax completely, even his crinkled brow smoothing out. A message pops up on his phone screen and he reads it aloud.

“Sorry, but no-can-do, we’re walking up your street right now.” At that very second, there’s a knock on the front door. Iwaizumi groans at the thought of having to get up again, having just gotten settled, but Oikawa is on it already.

“I’m coming~!” Iwaizumi rests as he hears the front door slide open, followed by Matsukawa and Hanamaki entering, rambunctious as always. They share kisses with Oikawa, and then it’s quiet. 

Oikawa must have gestured for them to shh before letting them through, because he can clearly hear their footsteps coming towards him and a soft giggle before the kakebuton of the Kotatsu lifts up on the other side and two more bodies snuggle in. 

They can watch the TV over Iwaizumi and Oikawa, although Hanamaki seems to think it’s a wise idea to wriggle right underneath the Kotatsu until his head pops out on Iwaizumi’s left, and he steals a kiss from Iwaizumi’s exposed cheek, giggling when Iwaizumi grunts softly in greeting.

“Comfy there~?”

“Mhm.”

“Falling asleep?”

“Nuh.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Pl’s.” Hanamaki huffs in amusement at Iwaizumi’s barely-mumbled response and dips down to gently brush their lips together, honoured by the effort Iwaizumi puts in to kiss back. When he pulls away, there’s an angry grunt and he responds by blowing air over Iwaizumi’s face.

“You haven’t welcomed Issei yet~.” Matsukawa chuckles where he is and waves a hand around to dismiss the notion.

“It’s okay, I know he’s tired. Been forging, Hajime?” Iwaizumi makes a soft sound which basically means yes, and Oikawa drops into his forgotten space on Iwaizumi’s right.

“He was! It’s only the blade so far, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a Tanto knife in real life!”

“Ooh, sexy.”

“I’d let you stab me with that.”

“Taka, no!” Iwaizumi listens to them chattering away, neglecting the DVD - which is still paused - in favour of talking to each other. Their voices, love, and the warmth provided by the Kotatsu are lulling him towards sleep, and he’s about to drop off when Oikawa pokes his underarm, making him squeal and jolt away. What can he say? He’s ticklish.

“Hajime, it’s been 25 minutes~.”

“Ah, the noodle…” Hanamaki instantly starts giggling, followed by Oikawa’s quiet laugh, and Matsukawa’s chortle. All of them think of a lone noodle, just a single strand all alone floating in a bowl of soup. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as he gets up, trundling back into the kitchen.

He picks the plastic bag of dough out of its compartment, poking it. It retains the indent, and Iwaizumi takes that as a sign that it’s good to go. As he’s dusting the work surface with potato starch, arms wrap around his waist from behind and a cheek rests nestled in his hair.

“Issei, I’m trying to work.”

“I know, sweetheart, I just came to watch.” The tips of Iwaizumi’s ear start to burn at the cute things Matsukawa calls him, but takes it in stride.

“Then you can _watch_ from a distance whilst I roll this out.” He pats the potato starch onto a rolling pin, and the surface of his dough. Respectfully, Matsukawa steps back to give him space. And, for that view. 

Iwaizumi’s arms almost ripple with effort as he rolls the dough out evenly, putting all his bicep power into getting the dough down to 3mm thick. He pauses to wipes his forehead, and Matsukawa clutches at his heart dramatically.

“I feel like I’ve just been given a private show.” Raising an eyebrow, Iwaizumi pulls off a tiny bit of dough to flick at him, Matsukawa dodging it with ease. He holds his hands up in surrender and Iwaizumi returns to his dough.

“... Can I cuddle you now?”

“Not if you want a knife handle in the gut. Wait until I’m boiling them.” 

“Okay.” Iwaizumi brushes the flat surface of the dough with more starch, then folds it over gently without patting it down. It’s just makes it easy to cut a smaller surface area, but the dough will remain the same length and thickness throughout. 

He chooses a smooth santoku knife with no ridges, so he can slice the noodles cleanly. He doesn’t measure the width of the noodles he slices, just because he’s so used to measuring by eye.

“Can you boil some water please?” 

“Sure thing.” Matsukawa finds the biggest pot under the counter and fills it with water, needing to use both arms and a lot of strength to heave it onto the open stove. Bringing the water to boil, he keeps looking to Iwaizumi expectantly as if the shorter is going to give him little kisses throughout.

Nope. Iwaizumi is 100% focused on slicing up the noodles. He stands up with a steady exhale when it’s done, whipping his head around to the kitchen doorway when he senses eyes on his back. Sure enough, Hanamaki and Oikawa are peering round the sides, and grin cheekily now they’ve been caught.

“Nice back muscles, Hajime!”

“Those _shoulders_ though.”

“Yum.” Iwaizumi throws and uncooked noodle at them and they shriek playfully, scrambling away from it as if it were a venomous snake. 

“Hajime, no! Please, spare me from your noodle!”

“It’s gonna kill us all, Tooru! Hajime’s noodle will choke us to death!” _Trying_ to ignore them, Iwaizumi puts the remaining noodles in the boiling water and spreads them evenly, making sure none of them stick to the bottom of the pot.

“Heat up the dashi, please?” Matsukawa silently agrees, putting the two dashi stocks on a low heat to simmer. It’ll taste better warm, even if it is being reheated. 

Much to his delight, as he stirs the soups, Iwaizumi presses a lingering kiss to his cheek and only draws back for Matsukawa to turn into him, their lips meeting and molding together in soft movement. The stirring gets slower and slower, until they eventually stop, focusing only on each other.

It only ends when Matsukawa jumps away with a shudder and screech as _something_ goes down the back of his shirt, and Hanamaki howls in laughter at how Matsukawa instinctively panics at the odd sensation of a raw noodle down his back. Oikawa stands further off, next to Iwaizumi, and claims a quick kiss of his own.

“You stopped stirring.” He offers as way of explanation, and Iwaizumi fakes a cough to clear his head before turning back to his noodles. They’re a little stuck to the pot, but scraping away at them gets them back into the mini-whirlpool he’s created. The other three are shooed back into the living room to warm up under the Kotatsu and watch the DVD. 

Iwaizumi brings four bowls of noodles and dashi through on a tray, making sure Hanamaki and Oikawa get the sweeter ones, whilst he and Matsukawa have the more grounded, salty flavoured noodles. 

Oikawa makes a point to moan every other mouthful or so, enthralled with the taste and loving everything about it. Iwaizumi might not be able to make cakes and pastries like Hanamaki can, but he’s amazing at basic meals.

“Sorry Tooru, but I think I want Hajime on my channel now.”

“Wha-?! Okay, yeah, I understand, but _Taka_! I want toooooo!” Hanamaki snickers and leans against Oikawa.

“Don’t worry, I pity your lack of baking enough to let you join me on Friday.”

“Mean! … But yes please.” The four of them dissolve into conversation, and Matsukawa relaxes. As he gazes fondly upon them, he’s inspired, and pulls out a pen and paper to write down a few things he can re-create with calligraphy later. That way, he can put his love for them all over the internet, not that anyone will know it’s them.

“Tooru. Have you done any filming today?” Oikawa slurps down some noodles and nods at Iwaizumi, washing away his concern.

“Yes! I got addicted to Untold Tales, so I now have about 6 episodes worth!”

“That’s good. We can spend more time together now.” Hanamaki smiles softly as Oikawa leans into him, nuzzling into his shoulder for affection and warmth.

“I love you alllll~.”

“Love you too.”

“I love you too!”

“Same.” They all narrow their eyes at Matsukawa until he smirks, and they burst into laughter.

Sure, their Youtube channels are all so different, but the love and affection they feel for each other is as strong as the day confessed, as tender as the times they took care of each other, and as cherished then as it is now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put your favourite recipe in the comments!


End file.
